


The Facts of the Matter of the Carew Incident

by GingerAndHyde



Category: The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde - Robert Louis Stevenson
Genre: Gen, just me messing around here really, tbh I just wanted to write the Carew murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:41:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22367317
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GingerAndHyde/pseuds/GingerAndHyde
Summary: In the form of Edward Hyde, Henry Jekyll ends one man’s life and spurs the ruin of his own. But it seems that Carew may have also had a secret to hide...
Comments: 7
Kudos: 30





	The Facts of the Matter of the Carew Incident

**Author's Note:**

> It always struck me as odd that Carew, a pretty important dude, was just hand-delivering a letter, by himself, in the dead of night. I figured that this situation would be a neat sandbox to play around in, writing-wise. Also- honestly just me messing around w/ first person.

The silhouette drew nearer, growing more distinct as it passed under the gaslights. I still found myself squinting- the heavy fog and the fact that I did not wear my glasses out on my little excursions did not help. Dousing my curiosity, I turned and kept walking through the frigid air, cold fingers gripping the silver handle of my cane. I knew from personal experience that people out and about at this hour of the night were never doing so for honorable reasons. At least, I wasn’t.  
London at night could be a dangerous place.   
Even if it had been broad daylight, I would not have stopped to talk. The night had been a busy one, spent prowling in shadows and dabbling in sins I would rather not disclose, and though my body was tired, my mind was very awake. Filled with the exact sort of horrible things I had initially aimed to separate myself from. Yes, I had enough to deal with alone already.   
The silhouette had other plans.   
“You there!”, it called. Funny, I could swear I knew that voice. I froze where I stood, shivering in the cold.   
“What do you want?”, I responded, turning to face whoever it was.  
“Only directions. And perhaps discussion.”   
I did know that voice. Sir Danvers Carew, MP and man of society, stepped into the light of the nearest gaslamp, which mixed with the light of the full moon to cast a double shadow upon the wall.   
“Hello. Edward Hyde, isn’t it?”, he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. My blood ran cold, but I tilted my face up defiantly nonetheless. Strangely, he didn’t flinch. People usually flinch...  
_And they have good reason_ , chirped an unwanted thought, a shadow of self-doubt. _After all, the face you’re wearing right now is just all your twisted-up insides showing on the outside. The intrusive thoughts, violent impulses, sinful fantasies, painted on your skin for all the world to see._  
“How do you know my name?”  
“A common friend. In fact, I’m on my way to his house just now.”  
“Who is he?”  
The old man smiled, withdrawing a letter from his pocket.  
“One Mr. Gabriel Utterson. I have a rather important message to deliver. One that concerns you, as a matter of fact,” he said amicably.   
_It says awful things, doesn’t it? And it will drive Gabriel away; Gabriel, your living moment of calm within the storm..._  
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I stammered, “I don’t know of anyone by that name. Nor is there any reason for anybody- let alone somebody of your status- to be passing along messages about me. You must be mistaken.”  
“Come now. You can drop the pretense,” he whispered, a smile like poisoned honey on his face. “But I must say...I don’t know how you did it. At first, I was sure that I must’ve been seeing things.”  
“What are you going on about?”, I whispered hoarsely. He laughed lightly, tossing a head of short, silvery hair.  
“You can come out of character now...Dr. Jekyll.”  
I stared up at him with an expression of horror, mute with shock.  
“You really must be careful where you change, you know. Slipping out of church in the middle of a hymn- not at all discrete,” he commented softly, conversationally, with such an expression and manner that anyone who couldn’t hear what he was saying would assume that the conversation was as friendly as could be. Carew carried on quietly, seeming to enjoy my silent state of terror. “At first, I worried you were ill. Word in all the social circles is that your health hasn’t been the best as of late, with you shutting yourself up and all of that. I followed you, naturally. It was behind the cathedral that you drank the stuff and changed. I could hardly believe my eyes.”   
I found my fingers nervously tracing the ridges on the silver handle of my cane.   
_He knows!_  
“Are you certain that you weren’t...experiencing a delusion? Some sort of mania?”, I asked desperately.   
“Quite. I was naturally very shaken- it looked awfully painful, absolutely horrific; I don’t know how you’ve done it every night- but I kept quiet. For two months. Two months in which there was no sight of you on the streets. Or in the opium dens.”  
“How would you know if I was spotted in an opium den?”, I growled. Carew shrugged.   
“Connections. I have many. It was through these connections that I began to piece together your little story. So I wrote it out...right here.” He tapped the letter. “Now. I’ve been waiting to contact you, as yourself or in this form. I supposed we could deliver this letter to dear Mr. Utterson together, you could come clean to him, and we could get you out of this unfortunate situation. I believe he lives just down the way? Or am I mistaken?”, he said, gesturing in the direction of Utterson’s house a few blocks down. I drew a hissing breath.  
“You can’t tell him. You can’t tell Gabriel.”  
“Oh? First names?,” murmured Carew.  
“I don’t want to bring him into this. He cannot know. He’ll loathe me, he’ll leave, he’ll...” I swallowed a panicked breath, fidgeting with the cane restlessly. “He’s the only one who knows anything real about me, anything at all. But he can’t know this. It would scare him away, he’d leave me...”  
_He’d leave you, he’d leave and you’d be all alone. Left to the mercy of whatever tricks your mind pulls on you. You wouldn’t last a week._  
Carew only shook his head with a smile that could almost be called gentle. Almost.   
“He ought to know. He deserves to know what you’ve done to yourself, to know that you’ve gone mad...”  
“Do not call me mad,” I said in a quiet voice, choking back a vicious anger rising within me.  
“But that’s what you are, isn’t it? You may be a doctor, but you are sick- sick in the mind. At least, according to this letter,” he whispered, his obnoxiously pearly smile widening as he unfolded the message in question, showing me the name of Gabriel Utterson on the envelope written in a dainty cursive.   
_You know he’s right. You are mad, after all, there are thoughts in your head that aren’t yours, aren’t there? Impulses, paranoias, and fears, yes, irrational nothings that fill your so-called analytical brain. A brain plagued by maladies even you cannot cure. You are mad, yes, yes you are-_  
“No!” I cried, screaming at both my errant thoughts and the man before me, stamping my foot like a petulant child. “How dare you say these things! How dare you presume to intrude upon my life, and air my secrets out in the open for all to see!” I slashed at the air with my walking stick, heat rising to my face and a fresh surge of adrenaline in my limbs. The part of me which would otherwise hold me back had fallen completely silent, giving way to pure, unadulterated fury. “How dare you! As though you don’t have shadows of your own! Nothing you wouldn’t want to hide! The hypocrisy!” I brandished the cane, knuckles white against the dark wood. “Stay out of my life, old man!”, I snarled. He took the smallest of steps backwards, raising an eyebrow as though I had somehow offended him. _Ha_.   
“Now, now, Jekyll,” cooed Carew in a whisper as he drew a step closer, “Look at yourself! I think we can both agree that it’s only fair for poor Mr. Utterson to know that he’s been breaking bread with a madman...a madman who has turned himself into a monster!”  
Something snapped.  
I flung myself at him- bludgeoning, beating, sometimes tearing with bare fingernails. Someone screamed, I don’t know who. There was an awful crunching sound. I became dimly aware that my hands were wet with blood, warm on my cold skin. At some point- I cannot recall exactly when- he fell to the ground, scrabbling with his hands in a futile attempt to crawl away. I stomped on them, still swinging, still overcome by the hateful urge to _hurt_ _him_ , to make him _feel_ _it_ \-   
I took a swing at empty air. The sturdy stick had broken in the hailstorm of blows.   
I was not done. I still had hands to claw with, feet to break bones underneath...  
I do not know how much longer I mangled the body. All I am sure of is that he was barely recognizable when I was finished. There seemed to be more blood on my clothes than on the ground around the corpse. I took a step back and stared at my work.  
It was then that I became aware that I felt...nothing.  
No remorse. No empathy. Not the slightest shred of regret.   
What’s wrong with me?!  
Hyde, I concluded. In this form, in this state, my conscience- my humanity- was dead. Carew was right. I am monstrous.  
I laughed- Why? Why was I laughing?! What did I just do?!- and ran away from the body and into the night. What a sick sort of joy.   
•••  



End file.
